


Silence

by triforcelegends8



Series: Intoxicated [9]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-25
Updated: 2014-08-25
Packaged: 2018-02-14 16:30:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2198883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triforcelegends8/pseuds/triforcelegends8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“He raped me,” Sherlock said emotionlessly.<br/>Mycroft let go of his brother’s shoulders and straightened up. “That’s what I thought,” he said shortly. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to have a word with Dr. Watson.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silence

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on tumblr at triforcelegends8fanfiction.tumblr.com for updates on my fics! Leave a comment and let me know how you liked it and what you think! ^^

“He raped me,” Sherlock said emotionlessly.

Mycroft let go of his brother’s shoulders and straightened up. “That’s what I thought,” he said shortly. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to have a word with Dr. Watson.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened and he sucked in a quick breath. “No!” he yelled.

Mycroft’s own eyes widened and his brow furrowed as he slightly tilted his head to the side. “And why not?” he asked, blinking slowly.

“Be—because…” Sherlock started. He lowered his head in solemn thought.

“Exactly. There is no logical reason why I should not talk with him, maybe even punish him,” Mycroft huffed as he held his nose in the air stubbornly and adjusted his waistcoat.

Sherlock’s head snapped up and he yelled, “No! He’ll—he’ll…”

“He’ll what?” Mycroft asked sincerely.

“… He’ll hurt me again,” Sherlock rasped, barely holding back a sob.

“Sherlock, if you think I will let him anywhere near you even again, you are mistaken. I plan on having my men take him to a secluded area once I am done talking with him and when I am back here with you,” Mycroft assured in a slightly scolding tone.

After a moment of silence, Mycroft moved to the door, ready to exit, but stopped when he heard a soft voice speak behind him.

“You promise?”

Mycroft turned around and locked his eyes with Sherlock’s. “Absolutely.”

* * *

 

When Mycroft arrived at the room john was being held in, he saw the DI sitting adjacent to John at the grey metal table, his hands folded over each other and a neutral expression on his face.

When he entered, Lestrade rose from his seat and walked over, his hand extended.

“I understand you’re Sherlock’s brother. Mycroft?” Lestrade asked, his hand still extended.

Mycroft merely glanced down at the man’s outstretched hand. “Mr. Holmes, please Detective Inspector,” he said in an annoyed voice as if he corrected the man many times before.

“Right, sorry,” he said as he dropped his hand, “You know John. Do you know what the problem is between him and Sherlock? I caught them in some kind of torture session. I heard you talked with Sherlock. What’d he say?” Lestrade asked.

Mycroft only tilted his head at the DI and moved his eyes to rest on John, who was glaring at Mycroft with intense, searing heat, like he would strangle the man given the chance.

Talking to Lestrade, but looking at John, Mycroft said, “Yes, I just finished my talk with Sherlock. And he told me something very interesting.” He paused. “Care to take a guess, Dr. Watson?”

John only kept glaring at the man.

“Very well. I will inform Detective Inspector Lestrade of the situation,” he said coldly. He turned to Lestrade and sighed before saying, “Sherlock has told me that John raped him.”

Lestrade took a step back as if he was slapped. “What?”

“You heard me, Detective Inspector,” Mycroft said with finality as he folded his hands together.

The DI glanced at John for a second before turning back to Mycroft and whispering, “And you believe him?”

“Completely,” he answered in a confidence that could not be questioned.

Lestrade propped his hands on his hips and thinned his lips in thought. Finally, he turned and walked over to John, laid his hands flat on the table and leaned over the man, and said, “John?”

“They have no evidence,” John snapped a bit too quickly.

“Yes, well, none of that matters. Whether or not you believe Sherlock, Dr. Watson will be under my jurisdiction. He will be dealt with accordingly and I will now have my men take him.” He went over to the door and opened it. Soon after it opened, two big, burly men walked into the room and stood on either side of John, facing him.

“You can’t do this,” John panicked in disbelief, his eyes wide with fear.

“I can and I will, Dr. Watson. Perhaps you should have thought about your actions before acting on them,” Mycroft said coldly.

“Hold on, hold on,” Lestrade intervened as he held his hands up in confusion. “Just _whose_ jurisdiction can you control all of this”

Mycroft raised his brow. “ _My_ jurisdiction, Detective Inspector.” He reached into his pocket on the inside of his suit jacket and pulled out and envelope. He handed it to Lestrade and said, “Please, do open it.”

Lestrade took the envelope and tore it open. There were a few sheets of paper inside, folded into thirds with words filling each page. He glanced up at Mycroft questioningly before unfolding the pages and skimming the words. His mouth parted and his eyes widened a fraction in surprise.

“Oh… Uh, well… Right. My mistake Mycr—Mr. Holmes. He’s all yours.”

John was silent and he was glaring at Mycroft again, the fear from before dissipating into hatred.

“Now,” Mycroft said as he wrinkled his nose in disgust at John, “just one more thing and I will be out of your hair Detective Inspector.” He walked over to John, who was still between Mycroft’s men, and stood before him silence.

After a few moments of tense silence, Lestrade spoke, “What are you do—“ He cut himself off when he saw Mycroft quickly rear his hand back and bring it forward swiftly to John’s face.

Mycroft’s hand made contact with the other man’s mouth in a sickening cracking sound. The posh man was stronger than he looked. John fell backwards to the floor and brought his hand up to his bleeding nose and mouth.

“What the bloody hell!” he yelled, the words muffled through his hand.

“Now that that’s over with,” Mycroft panted, clearly exhilarated by the punch, “I will leave with Dr. Watson.” He made his way for the door, the two burly men grabbing John by the arms and hauling him up and following Mycroft.

“Get your hands off me!” john whined as he struggled and writhed against the mens’ grip. They ignored him. Mycroft, John, and Mycroft’s men exited the interrogation room, leaving behind a very stunned Lestrade.

Once they were outside the room, Mycroft said to the men, “Take him to the listening room next to Sherlock’s interrogation room.” They nodded and dragged john forward, who began to yell all sorts of curses and threats to anyone that came near him.

Mycroft made a sound of disgust and seethed, “And for God’s sake, keep him quiet!”

Quickly, one of the two men pulled out a cloth gag from his trouser pocket while the other man held John from behind. The man with the gag tied the cloth tightly around John’s mouth, which was still bleeding.

“If you wish to leave here without further harm, Dr. Watson, I suggest you be good, quiet, and follow my orders,” Mycroft said sharply.

A muscle in John’s face twitched and he glared at Mycroft, hatred emanating from him.

“Take him to the room,” Mycroft commanded.

The two men walked with John to the door down the hall that led to the listening room.

“Now,” Mycroft sighed once the three other men entered the room, “to talk with Sherlock.”

* * *

 

Mycroft opened the door to Sherlock’s interrogation room. He was surprised to see his little brother’s face streaked with tears, his eyes red and puffy.

“Sherlock…” Mycroft said softly, his face dropping into pity.

“Don’t,” Sherlock spat. “What did he do?”

Mycroft sighed and sat down across the table from Sherlock, his head hanging down a bit. “He cooperated well enough, for a criminal.”

Silence ensued and Sherlock sniffed and wiped his face on the sleeve of his Belstaff.

“I came back here to ask you what you wanted to happen to John now that he’s under my control,” Mycroft finally said, lifting his head up and tapping the table in front of Sherlock for him to do the same. “Sherlock, answer me.”

Sherlock shrugged, his head still hanging down.

“It’s your decision,” Mycroft informed.

“I know,” Sherlock replied lowly. “I don’t care I just…” he sighed, frustrated.

“You just what?” the elder Holmes asked sincerely.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what I want to happen to him,” Sherlock finally answered.

Mycroft sighed deeply and stared at Sherlock, deducing his well-being.

He looked horrible. His skin was a pale grey color and his eyes had dark circles under them. He was shaking slightly and his eyes were flicking all over the room in anxiety.

“Sherlock, you’re safe now. He won’t bother you ever again.” Mycroft promised, his eyes assuring Sherlock that his promise was good and true.

The dark-haired man looked up with a vulnerable expression on his face. “You mean it?”

“Of course I do,” Mycroft assured firmly.

Sherlock stared at his older brother for a moment before looking back down at the table and mumbling, “I don’t want to see him ever again. I want him to be put through what he put me through.”

“Of course,” Mycroft mumbled back softly.

Suddenly, there was a bang on the two-way mirror in the room and muffled sounds of yelling. Seconds later, John came bursting through the door, a knife in his right hand. He focused on Sherlock, who jumped up from his seat, a wild, fearful expression plastered on his face. Mycroft stood as well, ready to protect Sherlock from John if that’s what it came to.

The sandy-haired man lunged for Mycroft first, the hand holding the knife outstretched. Before Mycroft could dodge the attack, the blade sank deep into the middle of the man’s gut. He made a choked sound and doubled over and John yanked the knife out and made his way for Sherlock. Mycroft fell to the floor, too numb and dizzy to get up and help his younger brother.

John jumped wildly at Sherlock who was backed into the corner, cowering in fear. He had his arms held up in front of him, trying to create some sort of protection from the other man. Before the knife reached Sherlock, there was a loud shot that rang through the room. In mid-air, John was shot and his body collided with Sherlock’s. 

Lestrade stood in the doorway of the room, the hand holding his gun outstretched, now aimed at nothing but the wall, which was now spattered with blood. He was breathing hard and his eyes were wide, is mouth parted in surprise.

Sherlock on the other hand was screaming, flailing underneath John as the blood from the wound gushed onto him.

Lestrade started towards Sherlock and at that moment, Donovan and Anderson came running.

“Take care of him!” Lestrade yelled, pointing to Mycroft who was still on the floor, quickly losing consciousness and blood.

“Get him to the hospital!” He ran over to Sherlock once Donovan and Anderson busied themselves with helping the elder Holmes brother. “Get him off, get him off!” Sherlock sobbed. Lestrade quickly grabbed John by the jacket on his back and hauled him off the poor man. When he turned him over, he saw the bullet wound in the middle of his forehead.

John was dead.


End file.
